bierkergaard

Now that LeBron has won his championship ring, he has ejected the monkey from his back and cut the noose around his neck. Or maybe he hung the monkey in a smooth two-fer. Language of redemption floweth: "The best thing that happened to me last year was losing the finals," James said. "And me playing the way I played, it was the best thing to ever happen to me in my career because basically I got back to the basics. It humbled me"... "It was the hardest thing I've ever done," he said of the title trek, "since I picked up a basketball when I was 9 years old. It's the hardest thing I've ever done." When I was in the middle of the seemingly never ending Dissertation, I had a dream that I was playing a game of basketball and every time I went to grab the ball, it floated away from my like a balloon. I remember Kobe being irritated with me. No one on the hardwood was experiencing the float ball. Just me. The harder I tried to gri

Went for a run today. It was over 100 degrees. Four hard miles. My wife just shakes her head. My thinking is that if I start having reasons not to run, pretty soon I am on the slippery slope of the killer couch. And it is a killer. Add the tv and some simple carbs snacks, and the boa constrictor of complacency starts to squeeze.     I overheard a great quote the other day when I was eating a dinner at a restaurant. Two girlfriends were chatting about very personal matters and I couldn't help but hear some of the conversation since they were sitting about three feet away. One woman said, "Like my grandfather used to say, "When you are going are through hell, keep walking."" I am going to upgrade this to run. It wasn't a good time today. In fact, it sucked. I try to come in under 40 minutes and it was 43 something. But, I kept running. Never underestimate the power of perseverance.  It is the only quality that can outlast a problem. Keep running.

One of the tensions about being a blogger is attempting to balance happy and sad posts. Ideally, the sad posts will have redemptive elements. Pure sadness without the response of hope in the Gospel is just plain old death. Another tension is how much of my own struggles, particularly as they involve other people, should become common fodder. I have a right and a write to tell my own story. It gets dicier if I start telling someone else's story, particularly if such a person would not want the issue to be aired publicly. Best to be vague.  Add to that, the proclivity to slant the scales of the story to present myself in the most favorable light. Yes, I do that. If it is a happy post, then it should be based on something truly good. There is a devotional that I read occasionally where the writer once extolled improvements to his golf game as a sign of God's faithfulness and another time where he illustrated an answer to prayer with his teen daughter finding and purchasing th

I saw this band Listener last night in Lancaster. Tom Becker, the head of  The Row House , ("Nothing is not Sacred.") brought them to town. The venue was the cool restored Eastern Market . I am still trying to process the rawness and reality of the show. It messed me up. I had to leave early because it stirred my soul so much that I was getting disoriented. You ain't going to hear this music in a Dentist's office. It drills enough on its own. Not soothing, bland, easy listening. A musical storm.    I have been in deep seas recently and taking on more water was drowning me. Yet, the music was also a lifeline. For if our experiences are not redeemed by first connecting to some greater truth, we are truly jettisoned. Alone drowning. This song  Most Roads Lead to Home  has some hull-cracking lyrics pounded home by a musical gale (take from it what you will):  MOST ROADS LEAD TO HOME (the dream miner) I can’t remember.......making all these visions in my head b